


you're the cage around my heart

by sparrowinsky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Kidnapping, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowinsky/pseuds/sparrowinsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most offensive part wasn’t even the kidnapping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/gifts).



> Reposting from over at tumblr.
> 
> It was supposed to be a happy one-shot, but apparently I just can't _not_ angst.

The most offensive part wasn’t even the kidnapping.

It wasn’t even the way her arms were tied behind her back, too tight, her hands going numb and her shoulders aching.

No. The worst part was that these stone-faced thugs decided to kidnap them in the middle of a girl’s day. The first in months, because Jane hyperfocused on Thor and/or Science! and it was impossible to drag her attention away for  _almost_ any reason.

A viciously bad breakup for Darcy,  _that_ had managed to break through to Jane. They planned a day out, Nat (“ _Of course, if I’m back by then_ ,” voice crackling over a bad connection) and Pepper (“ _I wish I could. I have to fly to Japan for a meeting or I’d would. Have JARVIS take care of all the expenses, ok? We’ll do something together when I get back._ ”) invited.

So it had been just the two them, wandering around the city and giggling over expensive, fancy ice creams while Darcy tried not to think about the asshole that had dumped her, by text, that morning.

( _I’m sorry_ , the first one had read, and Darcy’s heart had tripped while she sipped her coffee, every ounce of willpower she could muster keeping her face serene.

_I’m sorry_

_but I met her last night_

_I know we said we’d still be friends but I can’t_

_she’s leaving for Spain this weekend_

_Im going with her._

_sorry darcy It was fun tho_

Fun, he said, like she hadn’t been letting him fill the cracks in her heart, unmatched marks or no.)

(She’d sent some awful texts back, never good at personal choices first thing in the morning; sent some, and gotten some, and sent some more, because the two things they’d been best at were sex and fighting.)

She and Jane sauntered in and out of shops, impulse-shopped on Tony Stark’s dime, and didn’t pay enough attention, because when the van hauled up along side them late that morning, they froze. Not long- but it was plenty of time for the three men who spilled from the back of it, head-to-toe black like they were cosplaying ninjas. They moved with terrifying speed and efficiency, circling the two women and shoving them into the back of the windowless vehicle

No time for Darcy to grab her taser; Jane grabbed by the throat as she tried to scream for Heimdall, who knew to listen. It was fast, professional.

Darcy couldn’t even cuss them out. As soon as she opened her mouth, gloved hands stuffed it with some kind of soft fabric and covered it with duct tape. Across from her Jane got the same treatment, her eyes fierce with anger. Their arms were wrenched behind them and tied, far too tight, at the elbow.

Part of Darcy wanted to make angry dinosaur noises and head-butt her captors and escape, but she knew she’d never make it. Even if she got out out of the vehicle, with her arms bound she’d face-plant in the pavement. Something told her that escapee kidnap victims did  _not_ get any kinder treatment than the regular sort.

After the first half-hour the adrenaline began to fade. Her muscles ached, her lungs hurt, her butt was numb, her mouth was New Mexico-dry. Despite it, she even managed to doze a little, until they finally lurched to a stop.

The van doors opened to rolling, wooded fields, and a starlit sky. Darcy shared a wide-eyed stare with Jane as they were dragged from the van with as little ceremony as they’d been hauled into it.

Darcy’s legs gave out as they pushed her from the van onto a dirt road, saved at the last second by one of her captors grabbing the rope at her elbows. The sudden stop jerked her arms back. She screamed, the sound muffled by the makeshift gag and the raw dryness of her throat, and dropped to her knees.

Beside her, a hair more controlled, Darcy did the same.

“Well, well,” a voice said, deep and rumbling. “Doctor Foster, nice of you to make it.” As they squinted into the darkness, a black shape broke away from the darker shadows of the trees. The man stepped closer, looming over them, and the hair on Darcy’s arms rose. She shook herself, just a little. _I refuse to be afraid of some cut-rate villain_ , she thought, tipping her head up (up, up,  _up_ ) and narrowing her eyes at him.  _Coulson did it better in a bad suit._

One of the kidnappers ripped the duct tape from Jane’s mouth and Darcy flinched at the harsh noise and Jane’s strangled yelp. At least it distracted her when they ripped hers off, too. Darcy spit the wadded material in her mouth out and coughed.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, asshole” Jane started, voice rigid with indignation, “but as soon as Thor gets here you’re going to be a  _dead_ asshole.”

 _Yeah, go Boss_ , Darcy cheered mentally, hoping Jane didn’t get them killed before Thor  _actually_ showed up.

Her mental pom-poms slowed a bit as the big guy moved forward into the van’s brake lights. She  _recognized_ the harsh lines of that face, even past the scars and burns that marred it. She’d seen it time and again in the files Stark had…  _obtained_ about all the stupid that went down in D.C.

“ _Jane_ ,” she hissed, trying to ignore the terror rising in her chest.

“Oh, by all means,” Rumlow said, a smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t wait for your boyfriend to show up.”

“No, no, no, no, no, Jane, no!”

Jane ignored her, struggling to her feet. 

“Oh crap,” Darcy whispered, wishing she could look away as her boss and best friend tried to launch herself at a man who’d been able to keep up with Captain fucking America.

She couldn’t bring herself to stop watching, though, so she didn’t see the man shifting behind Jane until the butt of his pistol came down.

“Oh god Jane no!” Darcy tried to push herself up and go to her friend, but the asshole behind her grabbed her hair and jerked her back. Darcy fell back to the ground, gravel digging into her knees and tears stinging her eyes.

Before Jane even hit the ground Rumlow was moving, too fast, Steve or Natasha levels of fast. He grabbed the man who’d struck Jane by the throat and lifted, slamming him against the van.

“ _Unharmed_ , Waters. Are you not clear on that word? I said, bring them to me unharmed. I did not say that you could give her a fucking concussion as soon as I opened my mouth, you useless fuck.”

The other man only made faint, strangled noises.

“Christ,” Rumlow said, voice thick with disgust. “If I could spare any of you, I’d take your spine out for being such an idiot. She’s not fucking expendable.”

Darcy tried to ignore them, eyes on Jane. The darkness made it impossible to see if her chest was moving.

“You killed her,” Darcy whimpered.

Rumlow spun on his heel, leaving Waters to crumple to the ground. He crouched down, laying two fingers against Jane’s neck. After a long moment, he stood.

“Somebody take Doctor Foster to medical.”

“No, wait, I need to go with her—” Darcy tried to struggle to her feet again, knowing it would be fruitless. Almost instantly Rumlow was standing before her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet, dark eyes boring into hers.

“I said  _she_ wasn’t expendable, sweetheart. You’re just baggage, and if you want to keep on breathing you should think of some way to be real useful to me.” He glanced down at her cleavage with a leer, but it was strange and twisted, with more than a hint of a scowl.

He let her go and backed away.The man behind Darcy caught her again, without trying to dislocate her shoulders this time, but Darcy wouldn’t have noticed if he had. She could only swallow against a sudden pain in her throat and try to hold back the tears brimming in her eyes.

“Put the intern somewhere and begin securing the perimeter. We’ve got work to do before the storm.”

Darcy didn’t struggle as the man followed his orders. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything but move her feet as he pushed her towards the trees. If she was lucky, they’d put her somewhere she could throw up and cry in peace.

She’d finally heard her words: the soulmark that looped across her stomach, the words that were supposed to mean  _true love_  and  _happy ever after…_  sneered at her, like she was a piece of garbage. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow and his soulmark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here everyone, have some showering Brock Rumlow.

It’s nearing dawn when Rumlow finally begins to slow. He’s been snapping orders for hours, running through preparations in his head, more often than not putting himself to work alongside everyone else. He can hold up better than the rest, so he might as well put it to good use.

Still, everyone has a limit, and Rumlow hits his while the morning crew begins filing in.

“Go take a shower, sir.”

“Fuck off, Ruiz.” Rumlow lets a twitch of smile through, though, glancing at the man lying beside him. “I smell like a flower, and I’ll be right here until you get this panel screwed in. Maybe sometime this century.”

“Yeah, sir, but— uh—” Ruiz tightens the last bolt with quick movements. “—there. Due respect, you smell like a septic tank, actually. Go shower and sleep so I don’t have to give orders when the shit hits. Please?” The shorter man actually bats his eyes, and it’s amusing enough that Rumlow doesn’t argue.

A shower and a few hours of rest actually sounds pretty good.

Rumlow’s quarters are the same small rectangle everyone gets, but with the blessing of an attached bathroom. The base still has hot water, thank fuck; he turns the heat up as high as it’ll go before shedding his sweat-stiff clothes and stepping in with a groan.

In general, he’s all about efficiency, showering with the same speed and precision he does everything. This morning? Fuck it. If they’re lucky, this is the last stand. Understaffed, under-prepared, fighting for something he’s not even sure they all believe in anymore. So. Fuck it. He stands under the liquid inferno as long as he can stand it, letting the rhythm of the water carry his thoughts away.

He drifts on that same pleasant, warm haze for a few moments as he steps out, until he steps up to the mirror.

The face that stares back at him is a mess. Burnt, cut, scraped, and the same eyes he’s always had to face. Some of the guys he’d worked with had gotten over the bad shit, ignored the feelings until they went away, but he’d never found the trick to it. So he just lets it wash over him. Some people had to do the hard things, and if it was for a good reason, he could live with it. As long as he had to, he could live with it.

Rumlow sighed, turning his gaze to the words carved deep and messy on his arm.

 _You killed her_.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the words. He still remembered the moment they appeared, remembered scrabbling at his sleeve as the stinging faded. How he’d stared at them, the dawning horror that he’d be meeting his soulmate in the worst possible situation.

Now, though… yeah. He’d heard it before. So maybe Foster’s intern was the right age, maybe there was something appealing about her—

Rumlow shook himself, drops of water flying everywhere. So he liked ‘em small and mouthy. It didn’t mean anything and it wasn’t worth thinking about. He had a job to do.

He donned fresh clothes with rapid efficiency and ignored the way his muscles ached for sleep, stepping back out into the corridor to assist the morning crew as they all prepared for battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter was going to be longer, but it appears Rumlow isn't interested in psychoanalyzing himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy copes with her situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how long I'm going to be keeping up this writing/posting pace, but here, have another chapter! 
> 
> (Sorry, no showering Rumlow this time).

She’d been pushed through the trees until her legs were trembling, alternating between numb horror and trying, and failing, to catch glimpses of the soldiers ahead carrying Jane. Where her soulm— where Rumlow disappeared to, she’d had no idea.

Finally they came into a clearing featuring a decrepit trailer straight out of a horror movie, surrounded by rusted car parts and half-fallen fencing. It was almost a relief when it turned out to disguise the elevator to an underground base.

She’d been taken quickly through long corridors, half-dragged when she stumbled over her feet. Pushed into a small, narrow room.

“Hey,  _no_ ,” she’d said, when the Hydra asshole started patting her down. She’d tried to back away, but his other hand had maintained a firm grip on her arm. He moved fast, vibrating with impatience.

Finding no weapons or trackers on her, he’d spun her around, sliced through the bindings at her elbows, and pushed her towards the bed with one firm shove between her shoulderblades. Darcy landed hard on the bed, legs and arms screaming and threatening to give out beneath her.

“Stay quiet, don’t try to escape, and maybe we won’t kill you. Any questions?” The a quiet  _snkt_  followed his words, Darcy assumed from sheathing the knife he’d cut her loose with. She didn’t bother to turn and look, didn’t move at all. “Fine,” the man continued, when Darcy didn’t respond. “Have fun.”

He left with heavy steps, the door closing solid behind him.

For a long, long moment, Darcy stayed utterly still, half-sprawled on the narrow bed. Moving her limbs seemed like too much effort. There was a strange feeling at the center of her chest, a pressure that was trying to crawl up her throat.

Her mind, usually three steps ahead and spinning around several topics at once, was almost silent. She sat back on her heels, one hand drifting down to her stomach, where the words that echoed in her thoughts carved deep into her skin.

 _I said she wasn’t expendable, sweetheart_.  _I said she wasn’t expendable. I said_ _she_ _wasn’t expendable_.

And then the pressure resolved into a long, low wail, clawing through her body like something inside her was trying to escape. Darcy collapsed to the bed, clamping her hands over her mouth, but she couldn’t stop the noise. It seemed to settle like a burn in the back of her throat, and every gasp of breath just fed the fire.

Strange, her hands were damp, and her wrists. When had she started crying?

Pulling her hands away, Darcy pulled her arms inside her sweater and curled in, hugging herself. She was still sobbing, choking on it, but she couldn’t make herself stop.

* * *

Darcy found herself staring at a small gray chair, without any idea how long she’d been doing it.

She pushed herself upright, sliding her arms back into her sweater sleeves and raising them up to stretch.

She had no idea how long she’d spent crying. Long enough that an ache had settled behind her eyes and her mouth felt dessicated. After the sobs had stopped she’d just laid there, too tired to move. Maybe it had been a few hours. Maybe she’d dozed. It didn’t matter. She’d had her crying time, it had been a sucktastic day, now there was work to do.

Her first stop was the door. Locked— with a key, to her surprise— and metal.

“Well,” Darcy muttered, “I guess the bad guys can’t always be stupid.” She turned to face the rest of the room. Contents: one uncomfy bed, one chair, one table, one sink, everything in the blandest possible gray. Even the sheets and blankets on the bed were gray.

She turned back to the door and pounded on it, pressing her ear close to listen.

“Hey! Hey, anybody out there? I need to pee!”

Soft thuds, maybe footsteps, but nobody acknowledged her.

“Ugh, fine. I guess it’s time to actually use my brain. Um… ok. So it’s a lock. So I can… probably pick it?”

Natasha had shown her, one idle afternoon while Science! was happening and Darcy hadn’t needed to scientist-wrangle. It had been fun, but still… one afternoon of idle experimenting didn’t translate to cat-burglar.

She wasn’t going to sit and wait for whatever awful fate was ahead of her, though. Not with Jane who-knows-where,  _unconscious_. Darcy pulled her earrings off and carefully straightened the hook on one, hoping it would be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeey... so... I'm easily distracted and sign up for way too many challenges and exchanges and then I don't have time or spoons to write my other fics. And then sometimes I keep not writing those fics because I feel guilty for not having updated them and I never SAID I was logical, ok.
> 
> But, uh, have a tiny Rumlow chapter?

It’s a one-sided battle.

The remains of Rumlow’s team--

\--he can’t call them Hydra any more, even to himself, with half of them just loyal to him and the rest questioning their allegiances out loud in a way that used to mean he’d have to shoot them, he doesn’t even know if  _he_  is--

\--they try, but a handful of soldiers, less than half a STRIKE team, and too many techs doesn’t make for much of a last stand.

He’s supposed to blow the base. It’s the final protocol. Not for everybody, of course. Someone, somewhere, is working open cracks for the serpent to slip into. That kind of thing was never his job, though. His job is to lure in the enemies and blow them to pieces. Along with his people. Along with his--

Rumlow’s hand hovers over the switch for a long time, listening to the sounds of shouts and repulsor blasts. Every time Thor hits something with his hammer, he can feel the force and fury reverberate in his bones. His heart thumps in his chest in a way it hasn’t since his first missions, a strange feeling crawling up his throat like a hand around his neck.

He drops his hand and picks up his radio.

“Stand down. I repeat, stand down. Everyone.” He flicks it off before anyone can respond, turning on his heel and heading for the infirmary. It’s deep enough in the facility that the fight hasn’t touched it, and Doctor Foster is still laid out on a table with an IV pumping into her arm. Her face is calm, the mind behind it drugged to insensibility. Part of him itches to draw his gun and take the shot, a last blow. 

He pulls out the IV instead, slipping his hands beneath her body and lifting her slight frame off the table with ease. It’s a quick-acting and quick-fading drug; she starts shifting in his grasp before he makes it across the room.

“Easy, doc,” he murmurs, setting her in a chair not far from the door. “It’s gonna take you a minute, but the PA’s next to the door, when you can handle standing up.” She glares up at him and tries to talk, but the drugs remaining in her system leave it an unintelligible mutter that he assumes is insulting. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re probably right.” He leaves her there, half-spilling from the chair. It’s as much kindness as he has in him.

The next step is obvious. Find a dark corner, eat a bullet.

He makes a left in the corridor instead, heading up and back toward the fighting. Level four is nothing but the base’s quarters, and he should really just fucking leave it--  _go_ , he tells himself.  _There is nothing here for you. Just go_. But somehow his feet keep moving forward until he’s standing in front of the room containing one Darcy Lewis.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself. Then another, and another, and he for a moment he can’t stop, dizzy with it. His thoughts are nothing but a frustrated scream, and the bullet grows more appealing by the second-- better than whatever  _this_  is--

Then the door opens, and he doesn’t think, he just moves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very tiny chapter. Updating will be more regular now, since I'm done with the big massive project that was stealing all my attention away! :D

It takes longer than Darcy expects to pick the lock. Natasha makes it look _so easy_ but every time she think it’s going to spring open, her hand slips and she has to try again. When the fighting starts she can feel it, and that doesn’t make it easier.

 “Glad you’re here,” she mutters to herself, “but could we--” _bang_ “--not--” _bang_ “--hammer is not the right tool for this!” She braces herself for each faint shudder of the walls that can only be Thor smacking down the front door with Mew-Mew. Not that she can blame him. He’s probably desperate to get to Jane. _She’s_ desperate to get to Jane. And out of here. And a time machine, so she can avoid the last day. Two days? _Great, I don’t even know how long I’ve been here._

Darcy blinks back tears and has to sit on her heels for a moment, the image of Jane tumbling to the ground unconscious playing on repeat behind her eyes. It takes a few moments of measured breaths before she can return to her work at the lock.

It takes longer than Darcy would like to get the door unlocked, but she ignores the frustration and panic that’s beating a rhythm in the back of her mind. Honestly, she’s counting it as a victory that she only dropped the pin twice.

Finally, finally, the lock gives; she stands and braces herself. Getting out of the room is just the first step. She’s probably going to have to dodge all kinds of Hydra goons, without even the comfort of her taser, just to get to somewhere an Avenger will see her. And with the way things sound, she’s pretty sure that’s not going to equal “safe.”

She takes a deep breath. And another. And then presses her arms tight against her chest, willing away the surge of hysteria that’s trying to bubble up her throat.

_Enough. Waiting isn’t going to make it any better._

The door swings inward. Darcy steps to the side to open it. Her every muscle is braced to run until she sees the figure standing in the dim emergency lights of the hall.

For a moment she thinks it’s the Captain that’s come to her rescue and her eyes sting with tears of relief. Then he steps forward and clamps a hand hard around her wrist, yanking her over his shoulder with more speed than grace.

“No! Fuck you, put me down!” Darcy beats her fists against Rumlow’s back. She twists and kicks, but his grip is firm as he darts down the hallway. Away from the fighting, she realizes, and has to fight down a terrible feeling of hopelessness. “Fuck you,” she repeats instead and decides to use the only weapon she’s got handy at the moment, drawing a deep breath and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Rumlow doesn’t even pause. She keeps it up anyway, screaming her throat raw as he races down dark corridors. 

_I hope I bust your eardrums, you asshole._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. It's been a rough few months writing-wise.
> 
> This one's a bit transitory. Next chapter: plot! (are you shocked? I am.)

“This is  _ not _ going to end well for you.” Darcy’s voice came out hoarse and regrettably breathy, once her indignant sputtering had faded.

Rumlow paused and for a second she thought he was going to look at her, or say something, but he just shrugged and turned back to the electrical panel beside the incredibly retro elevator he’d hauled her into (and then, after a too-fast, stomach-churning drop, out of.)

Darcy watched him for a moment. Then she shrugged, getting slowly to her feet as she took in her surroundings. The dim lights above her didn’t show much beyond the raised platform of narrow boards surrounding the elevator, but the steps lead down into brick-walled hall. She glanced back at her captor with narrowed eyes before sighing. Yeah. Like she was going to get three steps down that hallway before he caught her.

_ Bide your time, Lewis, be clever! Do...something...   _ Even her mental voice trailed off weakly. Sure, she needed to do something-  _ obviously _ \- to get away from her cut-rate villain of a soulmate, but a lifetime of media consumption and excellent people-herding-and-office-work skills didn’t seem to be offering up immediate solutions.

The vaguely metallic  _ thud _ that echoes in the small space makes her jump. Darcy is in the process of congratulating herself for not screaming in fright when Rumlow grabs her arm and mutters, “Come on.”

“Uh.” She tries to dig her feet into the ground. “ _ No.  _ What are you even doing? They’re going to come for me.”

His laugh was more like a bark. “If they can find you.”

“Are you shitting me? Thor’s going to spend, like, half a second making sure Jane is ok, a couple of minutes sticking his tongue down her throat, and then he’s going to Mew-Mew into the sky and  _ come find me _ .”

“Hmm.” His grip tightened on the soft flesh of her upper arm before relaxing again. “He’ll try.”

“ _ Pretty sure _ I didn’t hallucinate the whole rescue upstairs.” She sighed, looking back at the electrical panel beside the elevator, now emitting a worrying hiss and sparking wildly. “...attempted rescue.”

“ _ Pretty sure _ I wasn’t as motivated before,” he muttered, and Darcy was torn between indignation at his mocking tone and a curiosity at his words that she didn’t want to feel. “You gonna move?”

For a second Darcy thinks about making him carry her again, as a spiteful protest, but logic won out: it’d be easier to escape when the time came ( _ when _ , it has to be  _ when _ , no letting herself linger on  _ if _ ) if she was on her own two feet. She held her ground for a moment anyway, waiting until his mouth tightened into a hard grimace before yanking her arm away and stomping into the dark tunnel. He’s surprised enough to let her go.

Darcy made it a good twenty feet on pure stubborn determination before her brain caught up and made several excellent points on the stupidity of walking into a  _ literally _ pitch-black subterranean space she’s unfamiliar with, and that  _ without _ accounting for the fact that a Hydra escape tunnel was probably filled with horrifying traps.

“Um,” she whispered, taking a tentative step back. “Instant regret.” 

A scratch-hiss noise startled her into spinning back around, flinching away from the sudden flare of light in Rumlow’s hand. Blinking away the stinging in her eyes gave Darcy the opportunity to take in her surroundings, clearer now than in the dim emergency lights near the elevator. It really  _ was _ just a tunnel, probably once lined in brick, but the walls seemed to be crumbling under the weight of damp and age. A sticky-looking red film coated the wall to her left.

She followed mutely behind Rumlow when he passed her, definitely preferring the evil she knew in this instance. It was like being able to see her surroundings had startled her other senses into awareness as well: the air was damp and unpleasant against her skin, something musty assaulted her nose, and somehow the silence they broke with their footsteps was louder than any noise would have been. Every now and again they passed metal doors like bulkheads sunk into the walls, and Rumlow would pause, his stern features uneasy.

“What is this place?” It felt wrong to talk, and she definitely didn’t want him to think she was forgiving  _ any _ of this, but Darcy was beginning to think she’d hear voices if they walked through this endless tunnel in silence any longer. Her legs were beginning to ache keeping up with his long stride, anyway, and she needed a distraction.

“...storage,” he replied after a pause in which Darcy could have sung at least half of a Queen song. He pitched his voice low, a hard tone. “That used to be a major facility. They did a lot of experiments, before the war.”

“Wait, wait,  _ wait _ . ...I’m not sure where I even want to start. Uh, priorities. What kind of experiments? Like, we’re not going to grow extra limbs from walking through here, right?”

Something that might have been a chuckle drifted back towards her. “No.” 

“Aw, but it’s on my bucket list. Item two, shouldn’t you, y’know, not be telling me about major Hydra facilities?”

“...it’s going to self-destruct.” He paused mid-step, Darcy almost colliding with his back before he moved forward even faster. “No- already has. I lost track of a few minutes.”

“...and I’m going to bypass that because I’m sure Jane was rescued before it happened, because if it wasn’t I will actually murder you, no joke. ...before which war?”

“Cap’s. Do you  _ ever _ shut up?” He slowed his steps, peering at the dark tunnel ahead of them like he could see anything past the flare’s bubble of light.

Darcy shivered and hugged herself. “I use humour to avoid the reality of uncomfortable situations, much like the  _ break _ from reality that led you to think kidnapping me was a good idea, either time, because soulmark or no I am  _ never  _ going to-”

Rumlow spun on his heel with a growl of frustration. Darcy found herself pinned against one of the thick metal doors before she could blink, one strong arm pressed against her throat and the flare sputtering on the ground behind him. Darcy dragged in one ragged breath, pinned by the wild look in his eyes as much as the arm across her throat. That look faded almost instantly and he jerked away as if she’d burned him. Rumlow snatched up the fallen flare and took off at a brisk pace.

It took Darcy a long moment to pull away from the door, despite the light fading into the distance. She gulped in a shaky breath, and another, palms pressed flat against the cool metal behind her as if she could ground herself through it. Maybe she was going crazy, but she was pretty sure what she’d seen in his eyes was  _ fear _ …

_ Why would he be afraid? _

The flare’s light had stopped moving, just near enough that she could still see it even though her immediate surroundings were utterly dark.

“Darcy.” Rumlow’s voice was a growl, raised just enough to be audible over the distance between them. 

_ Maybe he’ll get frustrated and leave and I can go back to the elevator and _ -

Something scratched the door behind Darcy, slowly. 

“Um- coming!”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr, I'm [shiniestqueen](http://shiniestqueen.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A traveling chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He was supposed to tie her up in the car, but this happened instead. 
> 
> Also, if you thought the update would come sooner: I apologize, for I have tricked you into thinking I am a responsible human with time-management skills. (I am not.)

The night air is cool enough that Darcy shivers as she steps into it, disoriented and sweaty. And sore, god, her calves feel like they’ve taken a few hits from Mew-Mew apiece. The tunnels were bad enough, full of creepy vibes and terrible lighting and going on forever, but the stairs they'd had to climb to get out of them- Darcy makes a mental note to look up the inventor of the elevator, because if she ever encounters a time machine she’s going to find him and give him a kiss. 

Her eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, starlight, not even the sliver of a moon. Darcy realizes she’s not even sure how long it’s been since she’d been kidnapped. About a day from that to the rescue, but she’d slept in the tunnels, hadn’t she? For a few hours? Once? Maybe twice. The memory is fuzzy, and Darcy’s pretty sure that’s not all hunger and exhaustion, but right now she doesn’t feel like examining the whole “creepy Hydra storage lair” thing too closely. The ground is much more interesting.

Rumlow catches her before she can sink to it, pulling her up by the elbows with a firm but surprisingly gentle touch, and propels her forward. “Come on. You can sleep in the car.”

Darcy groans. She doesn't have the energy for much else. “ _Please_ stop kidnapping me.”

He inhales sharply. Darcy turns her head a little, narrowing her eyes at him, but the moment passes. She pulls out of his grip, stepping forward, and nearly brains herself on the door of a truck. Blinking, she looks around. Some kind of farm, maybe? She can see shapes like a silo in the darkness, something that could be a barn. The air smells faintly familiar despite an antiseptic undercurrent that’s probably meaningful but nothing in her brain wants to come together right now.

God, she’s tired.

“Get in the car.” The door creaks as Rumlow pulls it open and leans into the cab, reaching under the wheel. Darcy considers her options for about thirty seconds before deciding that at least she can  _ sleep _ in the truck. And disc-one boss or no, she’s pretty sure her soulmate isn’t going to hurt her. Intentionally. Probably.

_ Stupid.  _ Darcy stalks around the car, gravel crunching loudly beneath her boots, and yanks open the passenger door with more force than strictly necessary.  _ He is not your friend. He is not your ally. He didn’t save you, he took you away from getting saved. He is not trustworthy. _ Her throat closed up against a silent scream while her face remained utterly neutral.  _ Stop wanting to trust him. _

The truck roars to life a few minutes later, leaning slightly as Rumlow hauls himself into the driver’s seat. Darcy keeps her head nestled in her arms, leaning against the door. Figures she can’t sleep the moment it’s a possibility, because irony is a real force at work in the universe, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him in anyway. Even if she’d give a limb to know where he’s taking her. Or, like, her spare iPod  _ at least _ .

That resolve lasts maybe ten minutes. Sleep is a fickle bitch and Darcy’s mind won’t shut up on the best of days, let alone her mouth, and the silent treatment is  _ killing _ her, how do people  _ do  _ this? She tries counting to herself. The sky starts to lighten around 382. She gets bored, starts again with prime numbers, distracting herself until the rolling green hills start climbing into mountains.

“Where are you  _ going _ ,” she blurts, snapping her mouth shut a second later so hard her teeth click.  _ So much for intentions. _

“A safe place,” he rumbles back, voice gravelly with exhaustion and  _ no shut up hormones, hate-lusting is not allowed.  _ “It’s… Hydra doesn’t know about it.” He pauses, fingers tapping on the wheel as he turns warm brown eyes to her. “I think.”

“Well, that’s  _ super _ comforting. Please watch the road. If you're not taking me back to the slimy embrace of Hydra, can I go  _ home _ ?” There’s a plaintive note she can’t stop, nearly a whine, and on a better day Darcy would be ashamed of it, but this is not a better day and she will use every tool at her sleep-deprived disposal. 

Par for the shitty course, he doesn’t respond, looks away. Darcy finds herself mildly fascinated by the way she can actually  _ see _ his jaw clench, muscles in his cheek and neck shifting. She sighs. It’d been a long shot. 

_ Ok, Lewis. Wherever you’re going, you can get out of it. You’re going home, you’re going to eat ice cream, find someone to tattoo over your shitty mark, and pretend none of this ever happened. Go to sleep, reboot your brain, and figure this out.  _ Darcy nods firmly, decision made, and leans back against the door, smooshing her hair and hat into something vaguely pillow-ish.

She means to close her eyes right away, to force herself to sleep, but she ends up watching Rumlow through lidded eyes for a few minutes. He doesn’t look like a capital-letters Bad Guy, she thinks, a half-step from pure exhaustion, smudged with dirt and sweat, a blankly determined look on his face.  _ He doesn’t look much like a good guy, either. _

She drifts between sleep and a vague awareness until the truck stops in front of a tiny log cabin, surrounded by towering pines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. What do you think? A little heat in the next chapter? Or leave it as a slow burn?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out some more other stuff had to happen before the Other Stuff happens. Whoops...
> 
> Jeez this is almost kind of plotty now.

The cabin’s bathroom is cramped: four wood-paneled walls sucking up all the light and barely enough room to Rumlow to turn around. He leans awkwardly on the sink, staring himself in the face in the dusty mirror. The sight makes him want to cringe, how tired he looks, how broken. It’s not just the bloodshot eyes and the bags beneath them. There’s something  _ off _ .

_ Not surprising. _ He’s been running on instinct for- three days, he thinks, or close to it. Instinct and adrenaline, and an abrupt shift of focus. He can pinpoint the exact moment  _ final stand  _ became  _ protect her _ , but he doesn’t think he could say why. It would be the marks, if this was a movie, but it’s  _ not _ and he knows they don’t work like that. They’re not a promise, just possibility. He’s seen enough relationships die despite them. He should be thinking of his own skin, getting back to Hydra-

-his mind unhelpfully supplies an image of what they would do with Darcy, if he did. 

He could let her go. Start the truck again and give her directions and wait in this tiny cabin while she bolts back to the safety of Thor and the rest, wait until they come to kill him. What’s else is he going to do, after all?

Where can he turn? 

The eyes in the mirror have no answers for him. Just exhaustion, and the faintest veneer of despair.

A soft buzz breaks his reverie. He moves slowly, glancing towards the bathroom door; he can hear Darcy out there, moving around. Tries to imagine what she’s doing, but his head hurts, he’s tired, so he just closes his eyes and pulls from his pocket the phone he should have left in the tunnels. 

“Hi,” he breathes.

“ _ Good morning. Nice of you to finally pick up.”  _ The voice is low and soft, an undercurrent of affection despite the irritated words. Rumlow swallows hard, something in his chest unknotting despite a sudden sourness at the back of his throat. 

“I was busy, Nora. It happens.” He keeps his voice as low as he can, hoping it doesn’t sound strange on the other end of the line. “Are you ok?”

“ _ Does it? I’ve never noticed. I’m...alright. Are you too busy to talk to me?” _

“Never.” He moves away from the sink, moves as far from the door as he can get in this tiny space.

“ _ Oh, good. At least someone has time for me.”  _ The sigh that follows could be nothing, but he likes to think he knows her sounds even now, and he’s pretty sure this is the one that comes before crying.

“I’ve always got time for you, Nora. What’s wrong?”

“ _ Where are you, Brock?”  _

“I’m-” the lie freezes on his tongue. The base- the Avengers- he should be  _ dead _ . His responsibility- his punishment, for failing so badly with Rogers, for fighting his recovery and their intended  _ experiments _ \- he should be dead. “...Nora, why did you call?”

“ _ They know you’re alive. If you’re alive, you’re not working for them anymore, are you? I’m not useful, anymore.” _

“Shit. Fuck. Nora, where are  _ you _ ? I’ll come get you.” She’d said good morning, but it’d been past noon by the time they’d reached the cabin. He starts a mental list of Hydra bases in east Asia.

“ _ You’ll get through his security, really? All by yourself?”  _ The tears are there, now, thickening her voice. “ _ You should get rid of your phone. They’ll realize you’re not coming home, soon. I love you.”  _ A sharp inhale, and then her voice is even again. “ _ I have to go.” _

“I love-” but the call was over before he got the words out. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . 

It take more than a few minutes for Rumlow to gather himself, to swallow back the impulse to punch a wall until his hand breaks. He opens the bathroom door cautiously, barely moving until he sees Darcy curled on the couch in front of the wood stove, breathing deep and even. She doesn’t wake even when he opens the front door, closes it, locks it.

Before Rumlow hot wires the pickup again he pulls a photo from his pocket. Jack had ragged on him for the sentimentality, a long time ago, but he keeps it anyway, a small rectangle worn soft at the edges. Him, about fifteen, and Nora both sprawled on a couch and grinning like idiots. Can’t remember why, knows they  _ shouldn’t  _ have been, it’d been maybe a month since the accident. The couch he recognizes, vaguely, as their uncle’s. 

He sets the picture on the dash and starts the truck. He takes the truck as far as he dares with half a tank of gas and no money. Drives until he spots a glimmer of water in the setting sun, then stares at the phone in his hand.

_ No going back from this.  _ His thoughts feel sluggish.  _ If they find out you’re alive, and broke contact, they will kill you. They will kill  _ her.

“Unless I get her out.” His voice is too loud, in the quiet dusk, seeming to echo from the trees. All the hair on his body prickles and he doesn’t know why he spoke aloud, but there it is, there’s only one option. 

He will get Nora out, and it will take help to do that, which means- he’ll have to let Darcy go.  _ Beg _ for help. And either way it goes, he’s not going to survive it.

He waits for the pang, but everything is dull and distant. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Darcy. It just keeps getting worse.
> 
> Sorry for the delay my friends, the outline for this one is about as detailed as a slightly textured piece of paper. Sometimes it takes me a bit to figure out where I'm going. Also, I'm bad at updating. That too.

She knows she should make a run for it, make a plan, do fucking  _ something _ , but she’s half-stumbling as she steps through the door and there’s a couch. Just.  _ Right there _ . Can’t hurt to sit down, just for a sec.

Darcy’s aware of Rumlow stepping past her, heavy footsteps and the soft click of a closing door.

_ Good _ . She stretches, yawns.  _ Ok. Up we go, time to figure out how to hot-wire a truck!  _

The next thing she hears is another  _ click _ , louder. The front door, and it takes her just a second too long to realize it, that she fell a-fucking-sleep like an  _ idiot _ . Darcy’s got a pretty good idea what the odds are of someone like him leaving the door unlock, but she staggers to the door anyway, scrabbling at the lock with exhaustion-numb fingers. Then she tries the windows, even the one set high in the bathroom wall that’s maybe as big as her head. 

As she’s scraping around the edges with her fingernails and hoping desperately for some secret catch, she catches a sound from the front room. No, from outside, muffled but loud. Like--

Like a truck on gravel.

“No!” Darcy jerks around, slipping on the tile of the shower. She half-falls back into the front of the cabin, almost slamming into a window in time to see the back end of the truck as it pulls into the tree-shaded road. 

It won’t help, and in the back of her mind she knows it, but she bangs on the window and screams herself hoarse anyway. Pressure prods at the back of her eyes by the time she runs out of breath.  Darcy swallows hard and sucks in deep breaths, until the immediate threat of crying fades.

“Fine.” Turning to lean against the window, she surveys the cabin. “Lewis, you’re hungry, you’re thirsty, and you’re exhausted. You’re in no shape to clever your way out of a bullshit situation.” To her right was a small woodstove, and sharing the same wall as the bathroom a shallow alcove with a small bed and a bookcase. In front of her the treacherous, sleep-inducing couch. And to the left-- a solid wall of cabinets, and a fridge.

A few minutes of scrounging turns up an ancient cup noodles, two cans of corned beef, and zero can openers. The stove refuses to light, so she gives up and explores the rest of the cabin while the ramen softens in cold water.

Except for the current lack of exits-- her second, calmer search producing the exact same amount of none as the first-- the cabin seems pretty… basic. Normal, even.  _ Not what I’d pick for a safe-house, but I bet having an imagination makes me terrible Hydra fodder. _ Whoever set up this cabin had decent taste in books, at least. She grabs a worn copy of  _ Watership Down _ before checking on her noodles.  She wouldn’t nominate them for any awards, but at least it was food. 

The noodles are half gone when she hears a tapping on the door a few minutes later. 

“...seriously?” Darcy set the book down and went to the door, slapping it with her palm. “You’re the one with the key, dude. You know they’re going to find you, right? What say you just let me out of here and we forget it ever happened?”

Silence.  _ Well, it was worth a shot _ . She shrugs, turning away. Maybe if she eats the rest of the noodles quickly they won’t taste so much like sadness. 

She gets as far as picking up the styrofoam container before the windows explode.


End file.
